


a right hand, an iron fist

by curlydots



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Pseudo-Incest, Season 3, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlydots/pseuds/curlydots
Summary: Philippa would prefer to do this the easy way.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Philippa Georgiou, Mirror Michael Burnham/Gabriel Lorca | Mirror Gabriel Lorca, Mirror Michael Burnham/Mirror Philippa Georgiou
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	a right hand, an iron fist

**Author's Note:**

> it's femslash february and i just watched season three and i'm dying so just take this. maybe read the tags first tho

Michael is naked on her knees, bound with gold on her wrists and ankles, but when she sees the toy that Philippa has picked out for her she still manages a withering glare that suits her rank. "The small one?" she says, mockingly, "are you taking my virginity all over again, mother?"

Philippa lowers the harness she's holding, letting the toy at the end of it dangle at her side. Michael hasn’t slept properly in days. Though she’s been forcibly fed and bathed her skin is ashen from stress and prolonged dehydration. After a certain age, Michael had refused to allow dermal regenerators to completely heal her wounds and her body is littered with the scars she's earned. Tilly has only added to them in the proceeding weeks.

She should be resting. Philippa wants very badly to allow her to rest.

Instead she slaps Michael in the face.

The strike is hard but Michael swings her head back around instantly, teeth bared in a feral grin. “And what was that supposed to be? Did I have a bug on my face?"

The other Michael had looked so pained when Philippa struck her. Not by the strike but her own wretched sympathy at Philippa’s plight.

Philippa slaps her again, hard enough to make her palm sting. Michael takes it with a soft grunt. She continues to smile.

“You’re pathetic,” she says. “You struck me harder when I was a child.”

She’s right of course. Philippa can feel herself holding back, like a wall has been built around her cruelty and she can no longer access it the way she once could. When she tries she can only see the other Michael standing in front of her with her guard down and her eyes pleading. _I would never hurt you._

“Ungrateful little wretch,” Philippa says. The words ring hollow.

Michael watches with rapt, hungry attention as Philippa spreads her golden robe so she can attach the harness. She has devices that she can fuck Michael with that will give her pleasure as well, letting her feel Michael's mouth and cunt as though they were around her own flesh, but she’s forgone them intentionally tonight. Michael has murder in her eyes. She won’t let herself be distracted.

“Come here, daughter,” she says, sitting by her vanity with her knees far apart. “I have better uses for your mouth.”

There’s a small lurch as Michael starts to obey on instinct but her new found insolence stops her short.

“No,” Michael says with an arrogant tilt of the head. “Suck your own cock, my emperor.”

In another time the correct response would’ve come to Philippa easily, like second nature. But now she hesitates, and Michael sees it and starts to form new vile, treacherous words to tear the chasm between them wider, but Philippa at least can react quickly. She comes forward like a storm to grab Michael’s chin and guides the toy into her mouth with a hand.

A laugh tries to force its way past Michael’s lips but she chokes on it when Philippa pushes further in. Philippa stupidly, tenderly, allows her a moment to catch her breath before pushing onwards.

Like this Michael can’t verbally mock her but her eyes remain fierce and angry. When she opens wider and wraps her lips around the toy it’s a patronizing gesture, and the mirth in her eyes makes Philippa want to strike her again.

Michael does not choke. They’d trained her out if that years ago. So no matter how hard Philippa fucks into her mouth, pushes into her throat, and holds Michael’s head flush against her body, she doesn’t get much of a reaction. They’ve done this with bigger toys; she’s made Michael gag and vomit and cry. She doesn’t do any of those tonight.

She is at least breathing roughly when Philippa finally pulls out of her throat. Michael coughs once and then looks at Philippa through her smudged lashes. Philippa tilts her chin upwards and wonders if wiping the drool from her chin would be too tender for Michael. She longs to do it anyway. She longs for many things.

In a hoarse voice Michael says, “Lorca was bigger.”

Philippa doesn't think or hesitate this time. The image in her mind of the sweet, mirror Michael with her kind eyes and neat braids vanishes like the blinking of a hologram and she hits Michael with the back of her fist.

Michael collapses onto the floor in a heap, wrists and ankles still bound. She turns her head slowly so that her cheek is resting against the floor and grins.

“You’re so transparent,” she says.

“Do not speak his name again.”

Michael runs her tongue over her teeth. They’re tinted with blood. She swallows and says, flippant, “the traitor who shall not be named, liked it when I rode his cock. I bet he was thinking about me spread out in his lap while he sat on your throne.”

Michael yelps as she’s pulled roughly onto her knees and forced to face the floor.

“That’s enough, Michael,” Philippa says lowly.

Michael’s laugh is a cascading, manic thing. “I don’t belong to you anymore, mother. Fuck me all you like; you’ll still never have me.”

She curls a hand in Michael’s hair, yanking her head back. Her nails break skin as she digs them into Michael’s waist and along the curve of her ass. The floor is hard beneath her knees. She'd wanted to take Michael in their bed, like she was meant to. So she could watch her writhe on silken sheets of gold so bright they made her skin glow.

“He fucked me before I came here!” Michael gasps, throat strained by the angle she’s being pulled, “so I’d be thinking about him the next time I saw your miserable face!”

Philippa grabs her hips and fucks into her with an angry grunt. For all her harsh words Michael is dripping wet and takes her with a loud gasp that sounds like relief. Beneath her fury Philippa shares in that relief. She's missed Michael for longer than Michael has missed her.

“I will cut off his hands for trying to steal what is mine,” Philippa hisses, this time the words come easily. "And then his cock and every inch of skin you’ve touched and I will feed him to you bite by bite while he watches.”

Michael pushes back desperately against Philippa, wrists twisting in their restraints. “Liar,” she says. She giggles. “You’ll forgive him like you’ve forgiven me.”

“Never! I will keep him alive until he is nothing but a fleshy heap, begging for death.” She bends over Michael to reach under her and rub her clit and Michael tenses and moans. “The Empire will sing songs about his fate for a hundred years and no one will ever touch you again!”

She expects Michael to be cowed by this, she’s spoken to her this way in bed before, but instead she only turns her head, staring at Philippa over her shoulder with flat, dark eyes.

" _Mm_ ," Michael moans, like she's tasting a delicacy that Philippa's brought her from some distant planet. "Such sweet words."

"They’re not just words."

"You're practically _making love_ to me, Emperor," Michael says, voice flat and disdainful.

She's grown used to Michael's hatred and murderous ardor recently but the coldness in her eyes now frightens her. She doesn’t know what to do with it.

"You make me sick," Michael says, and Philippa knows she's lost her.


End file.
